My dear Ada, you have reached Athlone! I drove by there the other day, admittedly on the bypass, but didn’t spot you. Perhaps you have lost weight?
I did wave my hanky at you, my dear, to signal to you about the upcoming hairpin bend, but lickety split you went, horn blaring, your hair blowing gaily behind you in your open-top Aston Martin, pursued by a member of the local constabulary on a bicycle. I do so hope you made it home safely so that you can tell your many friend of my arrival.
Whoa oh oh oh oh, Whoa oh oh oh, I’m radioactive, radioactive…I don’t understand why this song keeps running through my mind.
That sounds like a chirpy little number, my dear. Perhaps you would sing it for us one evening in the SCR?
It was all so peaceful. * Looks nervously over her shoulder.*
Hello, dear Lucinda. (I am behind you).
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